


Three Time's a Charm

by Justlikewriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy gets cursed, Drinking, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Original Character(s), Pining Draco, Post-Hogwarts, Prejudice, Witch Curses, character driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justlikewriting/pseuds/Justlikewriting
Summary: After the trials Harry hadn’t really thought of Malfoy at all anymore, until, almost two years after those trials ended, they unexpectedly started running into each other again.The first time Harry saw him again it took him completely by surprise. Yet, there he was: Draco Malfoy. In a Muggle club. Harry couldn’t help but stare, because, well …, Draco Malfoy in a Muggle club. It was the very last place Harry would have expected him to be.
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 154





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamhighondumbbitchjuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamhighondumbbitchjuice/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of four, that will be posted within the next week.
> 
> Have fun reading!

The first time Harry saw him again it took him completely by surprise. Yet, there he was: Draco Malfoy. In a Muggle club. Harry couldn’t help but stare, because, well …, Draco Malfoy in a _Muggle_ club. It was the very last place Harry would have expected him to be. When they’d still been at Hogwarts Malfoy had hated Muggles, with a passion, and he would not have considered spending time amongst them of his own free will, not ever. Still, that was exactly what Malfoy seemed to be doing just now. 

Harry knew he was staring, but he really couldn’t get himself to stop. 

Second nature perhaps. 

Luckily Malfoy hadn’t spotted him yet. Malfoy was in a booth, trying to talk to someone over the noise of the club. It just took Harry a bit more time to recognise who Malfoy’s companion was. Right. Blaise Zabini. 

From where Harry was sitting he couldn’t see Zabini very well, but he had a nice enough view of Malfoy. Malfoy hadn’t changed much: still slim and very, unmistakably blond in a way that Harry had never really seen on anyone else. His demeanour hadn’t altered, either: arrogant and regal and, and, well, just fucking Malfoy. 

Malfoy cocked his head in a quick, measured movement, probably indicating the bar and in doing so he also turned a little.

Just enough for him to see Harry.

Malfoy’s reaction went from utter surprise to complete boredom in less than a second. Harry still caught it, though. The surprise. And it actually was quite satisfying. 

“Come, let’s dance.” Ginny’s voice startled Harry out of his gaze. She was leaning over his shoulder from behind and talking in Harry’s ear to make sure he’d hear her over the music. He gave her a short nod and made his way out of the booth. Harry wasn’t great at dancing, but a club was hardly the Yule Ball, now was it? Here you just had to be able to sort of shift your weight from one leg to the other and _that_ was something Harry could actually do. 

Plus dancing with Ginny always felt kind of familiar: he didn’t have to prove anything to her. They knew each other far too well for that. Their relationship had ended with the War, really, but their familiarity hadn’t. They still worked well together, which meant Harry felt quite at ease standing on the crowded dancefloor with her now, doing his one leg to another thing.

“Oi, Harry, can I have my girlfriend back?” Dean was grinning at Harry and Harry dropped back, letting Ginny’s current boyfriend take his place. 

He decided it was a good time to get off the dancefloor altogether, eyeing the crowd, trying to locate the rest of his friends as he did so. They had left for the dancefloor, leaving him the caretaker of their boot, at least a quarter of an hour ago. 

Eventually he saw Hermione still kind of dancing, but mainly just watching Luna doing something intricate and weirdly beautiful. Ron wasn’t with them anymore.

“Heading back to our drinks?” Right, the puzzle as to where Ron had gone had just been solved as Ron was apparently standing next to Harry now, his face looking a colour that tried very hard to compete with the colour of his hair. It really _was_ warm in here.

Harry nodded.

”Smart choice.” 

When they got back to their booth Harry shot a quick glance at where he had seen Malfoy earlier. He found he couldn’t quite resist. 

Blaise was still there, talking to someone Harry didn’t know.

Malfoy was gone.

***

Dean and Ginny were on the dancefloor again, obviously enjoying themselves. Harry watched them with a pang of something he wasn’t quite sure of. Was it jealousy? He didn’t really think he got jealous anymore, not where Ginny was concerned, anyway. She wasn’t his girlfriend now and that was fine. She was like a sister to him, had always been if he was honest with himself. It was one of the reasons they had broken up.

So why did Harry feel this, this thing, at seeing her dance, having fun with Dean? 

_Because they are together._

The answer was there, all of a sudden and it was true enough, Harry realized. He didn’t feel jealous of Ginny being with someone else, he felt jealous of her being with _someone_. 

The same way Harry got jealous of Ron and Hermione sometimes, at how their relationship was completely natural to them: at how they just seemed to fit.

Merlin, he must be drunk.

“I’m going outside for a bit.” 

Hermione shot him a glance. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just, you know, hot and stuff.” 

She didn’t look completely convinced, but didn’t comment, either.

Harry just got up and went out.

***

The way out was not as smooth as it could have been. Harry found he was slightly less stable than he’d thought he’s be and, well, not bumping into people didn’t really seem to be an option. In his defence: it _was_ damn crowded.

Eventually, after fighting through every inch of the space he’d had to cross, Harry made it out.

The night air was cool and really welcome after the heat of the club, the relief Harry felt instant.

It wasn’t long-lived, though.

“Potter.”

Malfoy was sitting on the curb, one long leg outstretched and the other drawn in, his arm casually leaning on his knee, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was watching Harry, but it didn’t seem antagonizing, more resigned if anything. And wary too, possibly.

Harry should probably have turned back then and there.

Probably. Should have. 

In reality he plonked down on the curb instead, right next to Malfoy, who immediately stopped watching Harry in favour of the street in front of them. 

Malfoy was wearing a cologne that smelled just as expensive as his clothes looked. It was surprisingly nice.

“So, still feel the need to see what I’m up to, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice sounded indifferent, accent posh– another thing about him that hadn’t changed - but there was something else too, something Harry couldn’t quite make out.

“No,” Harry answered with the rather unsettling need to defend himself. “No, it’s just so fucking hot in there.”

“Yes,” Malfoy shot him a quick glance. “Yes, it is.” 

Then Malfoy poured himself a good measure of whiskey from a bottle he had notably taken outside with him. “D’you want some?” 

Harry didn’t usually drink whiskey: he preferred beer anytime, but since that wasn’t available here right now … .

“Yeah, all right.” 

Malfoy handed him the bottle. It still had about a glass’ worth of whiskey in it and Harry wondered whether Malfoy had already had the rest of it., then decided he probably hadn’t, he couldn’t have been out here that long.

Harry took a swig, the liquid apparently trying very hard to burn a hole in his throat. It felt like it almost succeeded.

“So, why are you here?” Harry asked. 

“What do you mean?” There was a tinge of hostility to Malfoy’s tone that hadn’t been there before. For a moment it sounded like he was going to say more, but he seemed to think the better of it.

Back in school Harry would have seized this opportunity to say something, anything, to set Malfoy off, but now he realised he didn’t really want to. 

So much had happened. So much had changed. It wasn’t worth it.

“It’s just …, well, I hadn’t expected _you_ of all people to be in a Muggle club.” Harry simply explained.

“Ah, yes, that. After everything that happened,” Malfoy said quietly, waving his hand in an elegant gesture, probably meaning the war, the battle, the trails, all of those things. “I actually prefer to be around Muggles nowadays.” He was watching his glass intently. “Nicer, less of a hassle.” His voice had dropped to an almost inaudible whisper now, his words seemingly like an afterthought, like something he might not really have wanted to say out loud.

Harry watched Malfoy for a long moment, surprised by what his words actually meant, their implication. Had he really changed that much? “Yeah, I suppose it is,” Harry then brought himself to say. 

In a strange way Harry actually understood exactly what Malfoy meant: he himself had chosen this club, because he was sick and tired of being Harry Potter the-boy-who-lived. He just wanted to be Harry, without people having expectations, without people looking up to him, asking for autographs or telling him their own stories. He just wanted to have a good time with his friends, no more no less and it had taken him until today, more than two years after the war, to realise that a Muggle club would in fact be the ideal place to have that. So they’d come here and it had worked. 

For some time, anyway. Until Harry had set eyes on Malfoy, who seemed to be here for the same reason he was. Well, more or less. Harry could at least see how, given his past, Malfoy would also attract some attention in the wizarding world.

That very much was not something Harry wanted to go into just now, though, and he was quite sure Malfoy didn’t either. Because, yes, they had been enemies at school and yes the Malfoys had been on the wrong side in the war. Well, at least until they hadn’t been on anyone’s side anymore really, but Malfoy himself hadn’t killed anyone, moreover he hadn’t identified Harry when he could have: that must have taken some sort of courage. So, Harry had testified on Malfoy’s behalf at the trials and he hadn’t seen him since, hadn’t even spared him a thought since, actually. Not until now, when they were apparently both trying to hide in a Muggle club.

Harry decided to hold out his hand and smiled, a bit tentatively, because admittedly some things just needed getting used to, but it was there all the same. “Perhaps we should start over. Hi, I’m Harry.” 

Maybe they could _both_ just ignore everything they tried to run from, at least for tonight. 

Malfoy considered him for a moment, then took Harry’s hand, grip steady and warm. “Draco, nice to meet you.” He still sounded formal, but Harry noticed with a slight jolt, that seemed to come out of nowhere, that Malfoy had called himself Draco: like Harry, he had used his first name. It felt much more intimate than perhaps it should have.

Not really knowing where to go from here, Harry took another swig from the bottle and only then remembered its burn. He barely suppressed a cough. “How do you drink this stuff?”

Malfoy also took another sip of his drink as if to show how it was done, with complete composure of course, and then smiled almost languidly. It seemed he had decided there was nothing to fear and consequently he wasn’t going to try and pretend he wasn’t rather pissed. “I like it.” He just said, his words slightly slurring.

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

So he fell silent, but it wasn’t the awkward silence he’d expected, instead it was easy, nice and for some reason it seemed to calm Harry in a way that took him completely by surprise. He hadn’t even known he’d needed calming.

“It’s nice, just sitting here.” Harry knew he was breaking the silence, the quiet around them, but it seemed like something he should say, nonetheless.

Malfoy regarded him, smiling so slightly Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching intently. “Yes, it is. As much as I’d like to deny it, even sitting here with _you_ is nice.”

Malfoy’s voice sounded as condescending as ever, but it also had a playfulness to it that was completely unexpected and Harry watched him in surprise for a moment. Then Harry just smiled at him, the sort of genuine smile he normally reserved for his friends, for people close to him. “Yeah, who’d have thought,” he said, almost conspiratorially bumping Malfoy’s shoulder. For an instant Malfoy froze, watching him, then gave Harry a smile too, an openly visible one this time. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen this particular kind of smile on Malfoy before. It seemed real, almost, well, vulnerable. Harry found he liked it.

While Malfoy took to staring at the road again, Harry stared at him, thinking about how this evening had probably turned out to be the strangest one in a very long time: he was sitting next to Malfoy in what he could only describe as companionable silence. It was unsettling and quite comforting at the same time.

Again it was Harry who eventually broke the silence. “I should probably head back in,” he stated. It was true: he had been out here longer than he had anticipated and his friends would be wondering where he’d gone, but he couldn’t quite seem to get himself to move, though. 

Malfoy turned his head to watch him, lazily tucking a stray strand of hair away as he did so. His hair was longer than when Harry had last seen him. It suited him. “What are you going to say to your friends?” he asked. He seemed genuinely curious, his voice somewhere between a drawl and a slur. “Hey, I was just outside sitting with Malfoy for a while?” 

Harry smiled. “Possibly not. Would you want me to?” 

“Fuck no, although it could be interesting to see what their reaction would be.” Malfoy smiled again, not quite the smile from before, but real enough. Harry couldn’t help but smile back at him: neither of them needed a lot of imagination to be able to predict the reaction of Harry’s friends.

“Are _you_ going to tell Blaise?” 

Malfoy gave him an all too familiar smirk, but somehow it also held the same playfulness from before. “Of course not. Although I think I might get the easy way out of that one: Blaise’ll probably have left by now, having run off with someone for the night.” There was a short silence. Then he added, softly: “We usually come here together, but we hardly ever leave together.” Harry couldn’t really make out what Malfoy thought of that.

“Do you also come here to, you know, pull people?” Harry felt an odd need to ask. He couldn’t help but think that, if Malfoy actually _did_ come here for that, it probably wouldn’t be hard at all, given the way he looked right now, his fitted shirt open at the collar and his tight trousers not leaving anything much to the imagination. He looked undeniably good.

Malfoy gave him a swift once over and for some reason Harry thought he wasn’t going to answer. Until he did, anyway: “Yes, sometimes. Not at this particular moment, though, in case you’re wondering.” There was that playful tone again, and for some reason Harry noticed he’d been waiting for it, wanting it to reappear, but not thinking it actually would anymore. It made the sting of disappointment Harry felt at Malfoy’s words, at their implication, bearable. Because there actually _was_ disappointment. Of some sort, anyway. 

Fuck. 

“No, no, of course not now.” The words fell out of Harry’s mouth, before he’d thought them over. “You wouldn’t, you know, with me … . That would be ridiculous.”

“Yes, completely ridiculous.” Suddenly all playfulness had left Malfoy’s voice: he sounded cold and reserved. 

Harry just watched in surprise as Malfoy got up, quickly regained his balance and went inside. He didn’t say another word, didn’t look back. He just went.

When Harry got in slightly later, Malfoy was gone. 

Of course he was.

***

Back inside it was Luna who talked to Harry first. It was still crowded, hot and loud and Luna had to lean in close to make herself heard.

“Did you see Draco outside? He was in here, but he went out before you, you know?” Harry smiled. He didn’t think he would ever get used to Luna’s uncanny ability to observe things no one else saw, or, granted, sometimes things no one else could actually see.

“Yes, I saw him.” Harry decided there was no use lying about this, certainly not to Luna.

“He has changed, don’t you think?” she said in her dreamy voice, still close to his ear.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Then a thought hit him. “Do you still see him?” 

Luna shrugged. “Sometimes.” 

“Ah, Harry, there you are.” Ron wasn’t even _that_ close, but his voice was loud enough, easily ending the talk Harry had been having with Luna. As always Ron’s volume had obviously increased with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

Harry let himself be hauled back to their booth.

***

When Harry got home, early the next morning, the rest of the night had gone by in a blissfully Malfoy-free haze. Well, almost. Sort of. Apart from the times Harry had thought he’d seen Malfoy’s hair, which, when he’d looked closer, had never been quite the right shade of blond. 

So what if Malfoy hadn’t returned to the club? Harry had been quite content not seeing him until tonight. So nothing new there. Still, there was something niggling, something Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on. Was it because of how they had seemed to understand each other in a way not even his friends always understood him. Was it because of the way they had almost acted like _friends_? 

Well, until Malfoy had stormed off again. 

That, the storming off, should actually have been almost comforting in its familiarity. Except, it hadn’t been. It had felt like a loss, somehow, like Harry had taken the wrong turn somewhere, but he hadn’t wanted to take it and he hadn’t known where he’d got lost, either. 

Right. He’d been drunk. Really drunk. And he still was. That was the only logical explanation for the way he felt. About all of this, about Malfoy. _Malfoy_ of all people. If anyone had done anything stupid tonight, it obviously was Malfoy himself. He had run off like the dramatically pompous twat he clearly still was. Whatever happened and whatever Luna thought, Malfoy evidently couldn’t have changed that much.

Harry went up to bed completely prepared not to think of Malfoy ever again. 

***

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice was conspicuously close to his bedroom door, but he still tried to ignore it, burying himself under his pillow. “Harry, are you in here?” Of course he was and she knew it. He just groaned.

That apparently was Hermione’s cue to open the door.

“Hey, Harry. I brought you some hangover potion. I thought you might need it and Ron told me you were out.” 

Hermione pointedly didn’t look at Harry. Instead she just sidled into his room and put a small phial on his bedside table. 

Harry didn’t know whether to be annoyed or utterly grateful until after he’d taken the potion. 

Utterly grateful it was. 

“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry got out of bed and quickly changed into his clothes while Hermione’s back was still turned. He really did feel a whole lot better.

Hermione smiled at him now, for some reason just knowing exactly when he’d be decent. “Glad to help. So,” she went on, a question in her tone, ”what did you think of that club last night? Was it better?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, at least I didn’t get harassed by fans, or anyone else. That was a nice change.” 

Hermione seemed to ponder that for a while, then went on: “But there were some wizards there, though. I definitely saw Blaise Zabini and I even think I might have seen Draco Malfoy.”

Right. Malfoy.

“It was him alright. I saw him, too.” Harry didn’t feel like elaborating, because really what was there to tell: _’we had a surprisingly nice time together, but then Malfoy threw a tantrum again and left?’_ Harry honestly didn’t want to go into that now. “Are you and Ron going to be at The Burrow for lunch today?”

Hermione smiled. She probably knew he was changing the subject on purpose, but let him anyway. “Yeah, of course.” Then she turned to leave the room. “See you there,” waving her hand at him in a quick goodbye.

Harry just flopped back on the bed, while he heard Hermione go down the stairs to use the Floo.

Okay. Lunch at the Burrow. He’d always liked that: the warmth, the food, the people. 

It felt like home.

And it would undoubtedly be the best place to conveniently forget all about Malfoy again.


	2. The Second Time

The second time he saw him again was when Potter opened the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place a few weeks later. 

Because, of course it would be him.

“Malfoy?” Potter sounded deeply surprised and Draco was quite sure his own face mirrored that sentiment exactly. 

“Potter.” It had taken Draco slightly longer to answer than he had intended it to, but at least Potter’s name had come out the cool statement he’d been going for. “This isn’t going to work,” he added. He was satisfied with his voice still sounding in control, his usual drawl firm in place, although the pain was flaring. 

He turned around, not quite prepared for the bout of dizziness that followed. He steadied himself, though, just enough to keep from falling over, the pain so intense now he felt like giving in. It would be so easy to just let himself fall to his knees, to close his eyes. But he couldn’t, not here, not now, not with Potter watching.

 _Certainly_ not with Potter watching.

Home, he needed to get home somehow.

“Malfoy, are you _drunk_?” Potter’s voice sounded angry and incredulous.

Draco spun around with all the energy he could still muster, finding Potter right behind him now. “I. am. not. drunk.” He made an effort to emphasise every word. Of course the git would instantly assume he was pissed.

A feeling of extreme dizziness hit him again, hard, and for a moment Draco couldn’t do anything but close his eyes and hope it would pass quickly. He felt the clammy sweat on his face, the pain in his abdomen flaring even more intensely now, the urge to just give in growing by the second.

“Then what’s wrong?” Potter spoke to him again, but it took Draco slightly longer than usual to process. 

“Nothing. I made a mistake,” he eventually managed to answer, his voice still sounding quite collected. He really needed to get away.

“Why did you come here?” Potter’s anger seemed to have passed somewhat, being replaced by what sounded like curiosity and something else, something Draco wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly. 

Draco felt so tired, the pain increasingly difficult to ignore. 

“I, I thought I’d … . I didn’t know you lived here now.” He blurted out, his voice definitely starting to falter. It was the truth. He had been visiting here once before, when he was still very small, and he knew the house belonged to the Black family. So, when he’d been cursed, he had come here to find help, figuring there would probably still be a house elf in this house after his Great-Aunt Walburga had died, a house elf who could have been inclined to help him. 

It had been a long shot by any means. 

And now he had to come up with another plan, although he really had no idea at all what that could be.

He needed to think straight, but it was so hard to focus with the pain taking up all his attention. It intensified even more and Draco unwillingly hunched forward, reaching out for anything to steady him and finding Potter’s arm. 

Even through the searing pain he could feel Potter’s other hand grabbing him. Then the dizziness that came from Apparating. When the world stopped spinning again and he looked around through eyes that only presented him with a rather hazy view of things, he found himself in a bedroom, presumably in Potter’s house. 

He didn’t dwell on it, the pain in his abdomen so intense now, he couldn’t help but clutch at it through his shirt. 

It took him a moment to process what the sticky wetness he encountered there actually was.

 _Potter_ seemed to process it quickly enough, though.

“Fuck, Malfoy, you’re bleeding. Why didn’t you Apparate straight to St Mungo’s?” Well, for the simple reason that Draco hadn’t been able to. Not yet. The day after tomorrow that would all have been different.

Because, two years. Two whole fucking years.

After the trials they hadn’t allowed him his wand back, stating it would be returned to him after exactly _two years_. If he didn’t piss anyone off in the meantime, that was.

And the day after tomorrow it would be two years to the day. He had actually kept count.

Draco wasn’t surprised that the news that he wasn’t allowed to carry a wand hadn’t reached Potter, however. Naturally it hadn’t. Why would Potter even care?

“Can’t. It’s fine, though. I, I just need to get home.” Draco knew his voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it was all he could manage. 

_Does it always take this much effort to keep standing?_

Draco felt his legs give way just before everything went completely black. 

***

“Mr Potter?” It was the first thing Draco heard when he regained consciousness. Oh, yes, he’d had the good manners to pass out in Potter’s guestroom. 

_Right._

But the voice he heard now obviously wasn’t Potter’s. It was female for starters. “Mr Malfoy was hit by a rather vicious curse.”

_Okay. Probably a Healer then._

It _was_ rather a feat, though, that Potter had actually got a Healer to help Draco. And it was probably even more impressive that he had apparently got her to do a house call. Draco still vividly remembered the first time he’d been hit by a curse after his trial. It hadn’t been as painful as this one, but it _had_ hurt quite a bit. Still he’d spent almost a whole day at St Mungo’s, waiting, only to eventually be helped by an intern who had just looked at him without much sympathy before relieving the spell damage with a flick of his wand and sending him off again.

The curses and hexes had been the main reason for Draco to leave wizarding London behind as much as possible.

“A curse?” Draco heard Potter ask. He felt inclined to say something like: _Yes, Potter, you went to Hogwarts, you know what a curse is._ , but he found his mouth had forgotten how to form words.

It was probably for the best, anyway.

“Yes, but it’s nothing that can’t be healed.” He heard the Healer answer. “I haven’t had any experience with this particular curse before, but I’ve seen others like it being used on … .” She seemed to hesitate and Draco would have liked to know why. Most people said it to him out loud: _Death Eaters_ or perhaps in his case slightly more politically correct _Ex Death Eaters_. The Healer didn’t say it however. Instead she just said: “On _his_ kind of people.” 

There was a short pause again and then it was Potter who spoke.

“Malfoy was acquitted.” His tone was clipped, cold, like he didn’t agree with what she was implying. 

It took Draco by surprise. Well, at least until he remembered what a sanctimonious do-gooder Potter usually was, which meant it didn’t really mean anything. Not really.

And Potter hadn’t been entirely accurate, either. Draco hadn’t been acquitted so much. He and his mother just hadn’t been imprisoned, mainly because Potter testified on their behalf. The Malfoys _had_ had to pay a really steep fine, however and Lucius _had_ actually gone to Azkaban. And then there was this business of Draco not having a wand. 

“Well, yes.” The Healer sounded neutral now, all business. “I’ve been able to reverse most of the damage, but the wound will take some time to mend. Apply Dittany twice a day and time will do the rest. He should wake up soon and there really shouldn’t be any lasting effects.” It was obviously meant to be reassuring, although Draco wasn’t entirely sure about the ‘shouldn’t’ part. It sounded too much like she wasn’t quite certain, either. 

Potter seemingly thought so too: “So he will be okay?” he asked. The Healer didn’t say anything else, but Draco thought she must have nodded, because Potter just said: “Good.” 

Or perhaps she had just vigorously shaken her head and Potter had said ‘good’ to that, Draco’s mind grimly provided.

Then he heard the sound of a door being opened and retreating footsteps. Draco supposed the Healer must have left and by the sound of it Potter had left with her.

It was only then that Draco noticed how much effort it had taken him to just keep listening. He wanted to wake up, open his eyes, but his body didn’t seem to agree with him and instead he found himself slowly drifting off to sleep again.

***

When he woke up, it was dark outside, which, it being summer, meant it had to be quite late. Or really early of course.

This time Draco _was_ actually able to open his eyes. 

The only light in the room seemed to be coming from the street lamps outside, otherwise it was completely dark, slightly cold and uncompromisingly empty. 

Of course it was.

To Draco’s faint surprise that didn’t last long, though, because just a few minutes later the door opened and Potter blundered into the room. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Apparently.” Draco was glad to find his voice managed its cool arrogance again.

“Good. I thought you’d never wake up.”

Potter sounded irritated and Draco fell silent, just for a moment, because even though he understood how that would be annoying - Potter really hadn’t had any say in the matter of Draco just turning up on his doorstep and then not even having the decency to wake up and just leave - Potter’s words still hurt somehow. 

“Well, yet here I am, all woken up.” Draco made to sit. He knew Potter would probably let him stay until morning, before finally chucking him out, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He didn’t need charity.

When shifting position he felt the now more or less familiar pain flare again and winced a little. Well, it wasn’t quite as bad as before and he _did_ actually manage to sit. 

“And that also means I will no longer need to pry upon your hospitality,” Draco continued, while pulling back the sheets, clenching his jaw. Every movement hurt, but he couldn’t show, not here.

“Malfoy.” Potter’s voice sounded shocked, if anything, and Draco couldn’t help but look at him, desperately trying not to flinch at the pain.

“That would be me.” Draco heard his voice sound as indifferent as he’d intended it to.

“You’re not leaving, are you? It’s the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake.”

“I really don’t think you’d like me to stick around for breakfast.” There was a bitterness to Draco’s voice he definitely _hadn’t_ intended to be there, but he just needed all his strength to actually get up, exhaustion and that bloody pain clawing him down the moment he tried to stand. 

He only made it up through sheer willpower, rather hopelessly trying to keep himself from swaying.

Potter just looked at him, still somewhat shocked and obviously completely unsure of what to do next. 

It was a look Draco kind of liked on him.

“Look, Malfoy,” Potter had clearly found his voice again, “you really don’t have to leave now. You’re, you’re not well.” 

There it was: Potter’s pity. Draco didn’t need that either, along with his charity.

He made for the chair where his trousers had apparently ended up on. He still had his shirt on, rumpled but spelled clean, so fortunately he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of putting that on too.

That moment, however regrettably, was when his body made a decision of its own accord, determining it had had quite enough of standing up: Draco’s legs, very much without his permission, gave way.

Draco reached for the chair, willing himself not to touch Potter. Potter himself seemed to have no such qualms, though, as Draco suddenly found Potter’s arm firmly around his waist, solid and strong.

_No, no, don’t touch me._

Draco tried to say as much, but for some reason the words just didn’t make it out and he ended up having to lean heavily on Potter just to get back to bed.

Humiliation complete.

***

“Malfoy, are you asleep?” Potter’s question was soft, not as impatient or annoyed as Draco would have expected it to be. It was the reason Draco opened his eyes: he would have wanted to be asleep, though, or even better still, unconscious, anything not to have witnessed his stupidly nearly fainting into Potter’s arms. He really could have gone his whole fucking life without ever experiencing _that_. 

He didn’t say anything, though.

Potter was watching him closely, the green of his eyes intense even through his glasses. “I actually came in here to apply Dittany to your er … wound.” It was only now that Draco saw the small phial that Potter was holding.

Right, so this apparently was the kind of Dittany you needed to _apply_ to a wound, not drink as Draco was used to doing.

“Okay.” Draco noticed the resignation in his own voice. He was so bloody tired he couldn’t really get himself to care anymore. Besides it was too late to try and hold on to his dignity anyway.

Potter set to undo the buttons of Draco’s shirt, fumbling a bit as he did so: they were small and many. 

Draco only realized he’d dozed off a bit when he felt fingers on his skin applying the balm and when he looked down there was no blood anymore, just Potter’s fingers, warm and sure. It was nice. 

Of course it was nice.

“Does it hurt?” Potter was watching him with that gaze again.

Draco started to shake his head, because at first it didn’t, but he had to abort halfway. It _had_ started to hurt, like hell, really. “Not much.” 

Harry watched him with that intense gaze of his again, obviously deciding he didn’t believe Draco. Of course he wouldn’t. “It won’t hurt for long.” Harry gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ve actually had quite some experience with the stuff.”

He was right. The pain started to subside again rather quickly.

“So, I suppose you _are_ going to be sticking around for breakfast.” Harry said when Draco slowly started to feel more like his, still very tired, self again. Harry didn’t sound put off, though, and when Draco looked up at him he was smiling a little. It was slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how Draco would take his words.

Draco wasn’t sure how he _should_ take his words.

“Yes, it seems I will be.” Draco didn’t manage his usual drawl completely, but he thought he probably came close enough and for some reason that seemed to be the response Harry had been hoping for, because he beamed a full smile at Draco now.

“Good, that’s settled then. Night, Malfoy.” 

“Goodnight, Potter.” 

***

When Draco woke up the next morning it took him some time to actually remember where he was and why. 

And then he just wished he hadn’t remembered, because really it couldn’t get much worse than this: losing consciousness on Harry Potter’s doorstep, practically swooning into his arms. 

It would almost have been funny, if it wasn’t so painful.

“Sleep well?” Potter came in, actually sounding rather cheery levitating a large tray behind him. “I didn’t know how you’d be feeling, so I decided we could have breakfast here.” 

It took Draco some time to ponder what struck him most about that sentence, finally deciding on the ‘we’ part. Potter seemed quite serious about that, though, because the tray held two plates, one of which he gave to Draco.

So Potter apparently hadn’t had breakfast yet, and what’s more: he was obviously having it together with Draco, sitting on the edge of his bed with a large tray hovering alongside them.

Draco didn’t quite know what he’d been expecting, but it most certainly wasn’t this. 

“I wasn’t sure what you you’d like to have for breakfast, so I had Kreacher make a variety of things. Just choose whatever you want.”

Draco tried not to watch the tray all too greedily, but it took some effort, because he felt positively ravenous. He hadn’t eaten anything since the curse had hit him yesterday afternoon and he could absolutely feel it. Still he managed not to pack too much on his plate, and to wait until Potter had stacked his plate high with everything he apparently wanted (You’d think he was the one who hadn’t had anything to eat for quite a while.) and started polishing it off. 

Potter made remarkably quick work of it, gazing back at Draco again when he had finished, his eyes lingering on where Draco’s shirt was still open.

“We will have to apply Dittany again,” Potter remarked. 

_Oh, yes, Dittany._

Draco nodded, swallowing the last bit of his croissant, savouring it. It had been quite good. All of the food had been, really.

“I’ll get the phial. Don’t go anywhere.” Potter shot him an almost playful look. 

“And leave this perfectly comfortable bed? Don’t think so.”

When Draco woke up again Potter had returned to the room with the phial of Dittany. Draco hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen asleep, apparently slumping against the headboard of the bed. 

It probably hadn’t been the most graceful position he’d ever been in.

Potter didn’t comment on it, though. “It won’t hurt as much this time.” he said as he sat down on the bed again, phial in hand.

Like last night it looked like Potter was going to apply the Dittany himself and Draco didn’t really know what to do. Should he allow him to? Yesterday that had been fine, hadn’t it?

Well, it had been rather more than fine. Which probably was exactly why he shouldn’t have Potter do it again.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked him softly, his fingers dangerously close to Draco’s wound already. 

“Yes, I …. Yes.” 

“Really, It won’t hurt as much this time.” Potter said, adding a reassuring smile to his words.

Draco sighed. “Just get on with it.” 

Potter’s fingers were still warm and sure and this time Draco decided to savour the experience. 

When the pain caused by the Dittany came again it really _was_ less. 

And so worth it.


	3. And then some

“Did you see who did this?” Potter now asked, obviously referring to the curse. 

Draco shook his head.

“No, they tend to run when I look their way.” He had aimed for his tone to be condescending, cool, but it came out slightly bitter, because it was true: although many wizards and witches apparently had trouble with him not being in Azkaban, they were never brave enough to show their faces. Sometimes Draco didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like cursing an ex Death Eater would get Auror priority.

“So there is no way of finding out?” Potter sounded like it was more of a question than a statement, as if he still thought it should be investigated, perhaps even punished. 

“No, Potter, there isn’t.” The truth of the matter was that his attacker had been sneaking up behind him. Usually Draco tried to be really careful, keeping close to buildings, preferably with windows, and always watchful, but yesterday he’d been in an, admittedly rather deserted, Muggle area and he hadn’t been as attentive as he’d normally be.

That definitely had been a mistake.

Deserted Muggle areas obviously had to be added to Draco’s long mental list of places to preferably avoid or at least be very careful in.

“But, … .” Potter sounded a bit surprised, like he wanted to object.

Draco just shrugged. “That’s just the way it works.” He tried to make it sound matter-of-factly, sort of succeeding this time. 

The look that Potter gave him didn’t sit well with Draco, though. It held confusion for the most part, but there was something else there. It seemed like anger or pity or both and Draco didn’t think he could deal with either of those, not from Potter. 

“So, Potter, does this house of yours actually have a shower? Or better still: a bath? Because I’d like to put it to use.” 

Draco didn’t really know whether he’d manage to keep standing long enough to actually take a shower, but he _did_ feel a lot better and more importantly he just hadn’t been able to think of another way of changing the subject. 

Potter considered him for a while and since he probably knew whether his own house held a bathroom or not, it couldn’t be about that. No, the considering probably had to do with the other thing, the pity, charity, whatever. Draco didn’t like it.

Potter eventually just nodded. “There’s a bathroom just across the hallway.” He inhaled a sharp breath, like he wanted to say something else, but then decided not to. Good. Because Draco really didn’t want to hear anything about his current state and how perhaps he shouldn’t get up yet. 

“I will run you a bath.” Potter simply said at last, getting up. 

“You _do_ know that house elves are perfectly capable of doing something like that?” 

At that Harry shot him a look Draco had difficulty reading and he feared he’d said something he shouldn’t have: he knew about house elves, but he didn’t know how Harry interacted with them. Not really. And he certainly didn’t know how Harry interacted with the house elf or elves that had come with this Black property.

But then Potter just made to leave the room.

Draco decided he could just as well take his time and let himself fall back onto the bed, closing his eyes.

***

When the bath was ready Draco noticed the Dittany must have been working, because the pain was less now, at least enough for him to go to the bathroom on his own. His body still felt heavy but there definitely was no awkwardly falling into Potters arms this time. Good. 

The bath Potter had drawn him was perfect: the temperature of the water just so and the smell of the bath oil pleasurable. It was much more than he’d expected. Potter had even put a towel and clean clothes in the bathroom for him to use. At least that was what Draco assumed (hopefully they weren’t meant for Potter himself) and it was something Draco felt incredibly grateful for.

Draco took his time, allowing himself to give into the relaxing pull of the water until it got too cold, then drying himself off leisurely. 

When he came out of the bathroom he was dressed in a pair of Potter’s black jeans which he’d had to shrink slightly to make them fit and a white shirt that had a rather new feel to it: now he was out of Hogwarts Potter probably didn’t wear an awful lot of shirts anymore.

Potter was in the hallway, flushing slightly as he looked up at Draco, then down, and up again as if he couldn’t believe Draco was actually wearing his clothes. 

“What? Do you have a problem with me finally putting that shirt of yours to use?” Draco drawled.

It seemed to ease some tension because after a brief look of surprise Potter smiled openly and genuinely, like Draco had seen him do that night of their drunken encounter. It was entirely too nice. “So you could actually tell I hadn’t worn the damn thing yet?” Potter asked.

Draco just shrugged, also smiling a little. He noticed he felt more at ease than he could ever have imagined. That night at the club there had been a period where he’d felt it too, the ease with which they had interacted, when he’d even allowed himself to believe -, but they had both been drunk and then Harry had said what he had said and, well, it had all been completely hopeless again. 

He hadn’t visited that particular club since, hadn’t wanted to run into Potter again. It was a road he’d been on before and he knew from experience where it led.

So it was only completely logical he found himself on that same road now, of course, because, well, he was like that. At least when it came to Potter he was, apparently.

“Malfoy, are you alright?” Potter had that gaze again, the one where he looked at Draco so intently it almost hurt. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” His answer was more clipped than he’d intended, but it was true enough, though. He felt better, the pain mostly just a dull reminder of what it had been, although his body still felt tired and heavy.

He should be able to go home soon.

He had to remind himself that was a good thing.

“Would you like to use the Floo? You know, to go home?” Potter asked, almost as if he’d known what Draco had been thinking. Draco winced, the hurt of those words almost comparable to that stupid curse for a moment. Of course Potter still wanted him to leave. It was Potter’s house and he wasn’t even supposed to be there. 

So Draco nodded, sharply and just once, hoping his face didn’t give him away.

Potter had been studying him again, though, probably drawing all the wrong conclusions from Draco’s wince. “Do you play chess?” 

Draco couldn’t help but smile a little at this unexpected change of subject. He didn’t really know how Potter’s mind worked and he didn’t think he ever would, or wanted to. He really didn’t want to. 

Draco just nodded. “Yes, I do. The question is: do you?” There was a challenge to his voice, but it wasn’t menacing, like once it would have been.

Potter rose to the challenge all the same.

“Yes, I do.” Potter paused briefly. “Now, anyway. Ron taught me.” His voice had changed from almost indignant to something a lot softer, less sure.

Draco tilted his chin a bit. “Let’s have it then.” 

***

Playing chess with Potter turned out to be much more fun than Draco had anticipated. The set they used was Muggle unfortunately (Potter told him he got it from Hermione, so Ron could teach him the basics without all the distraction of pieces actually hitting each other), but Potter wasn’t half bad at it and although Draco still won most of the time Potter actually gave him a run for his money a few times. Besides Potter wasn’t a sore loser, laughing at himself whenever he made a stupid mistake. 

It was more than Draco could say for himself. He was still awful at losing, but Harry didn’t even seem to mind that very much.

So, when Potter’s house elf came in to ask whether young Master Malfoy would be staying for lunch, Draco found to his surprise that they had passed a few hours without quarrelling and in unexpected harmony (except perhaps for the one time Draco _had_ lost, where he might have been a tad disgruntled, clearing the board of its remaining pieces in one swipe and probably with slightly more force than the situation had warranted).

Potter looked at Draco now. “Do you want to stay for lunch? I’m quite hungry, so I suppose you must be, too?” Draco noticed that even that second sentence seemed to hold some sort of question.

He nodded. “I might as well, since I _have_ already stuck around for breakfast anyway.” 

Harry had obviously got the reference to what Draco had said earlier, because he slanted him a quick, almost worried glance, then obviously decided Draco wasn’t being awful and smiled. 

“Yup, Draco will have lunch here,” he answered the old house elf.

 _‘Draco’_ , Potter had called him Draco. It felt good, somehow. And utterly dangerous. 

***

It was when Potter had just finished lunch that he suddenly got up, almost throwing his chair to the floor in the process.

“Fuck, it’s -, I promised George and Ron I’d help try some things from the new shipment of stuff that came in today. I should get to the shop. I’m already running late.” He looked startled and sort of guilty at the same time.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Draco got to his feet in one smooth movement, wincing a little at the pain it apparently still induced. 

It was time to leave. Well, actually it was past the time he should have left. Far past. 

Potter considered him just a fraction of a second, then evidently came to a different conclusion. “You’re welcome to stay. You haven’t even finished lunch yet.” He gave Draco his intense gaze again, his eyes that beautiful green of theirs. Fuck, Draco really shouldn’t stay. He shouldn’t stay. 

Potter seemed to notice Draco’s shaky resolve to leave, however, and for some reason he didn’t agree. “I won’t be very long.” His voice had an edge of worry to it and Draco knew what that meant. Potter was sorry for him. Of course he was: pity and charity. It was exactly what Draco didn’t want, what he didn’t need.

Still, almost to his own surprise, he sat down again.

It was just so nice. He felt at ease in a way he hadn’t for so long. Potter knew him, with everything he had and hadn’t done, but still there he was, talking to him, almost amicably, calling him Draco, although that, admittedly, had been only once and addressed at a house elf.

Besides it was Potter. The same Potter he’d been to school with. The Potter he had ridiculed, because he couldn’t have anything else. That Potter. And of course nothing had changed there, not really, but well, perhaps he could just allow himself this, the ease, the geniality, just for now. Just for today.

When he saw Draco sit down again, Potter relaxed a little. “Really, I won’t be very long,” he repeated. “Perhaps you’d like to look around the library?” There was a glint of amusement in Potter’s eyes and Draco wasn’t sure whether it was a serious suggestion or not.

“The library would probably be honoured since I don’t presume it’s been used all that much recently.” Draco tried an arrogant, but still slightly teasing tone. 

Potter obviously understood and smiled, genuine and almost warm. “Well, I haven’t read all the books in there yet, if that’s what you mean.”

Draco wanted more of that. “You mean you read all the ones on Quidditch and you lent a few others to Hermione.” He said with a half-smile, half-smirk.

“That’s -, that’s, well, almost correct.”

“Let me guess: you didn’t even finish all the books on Quidditch?” Draco teased.

Harry smiled again, broadly this time and Draco loved every bit of it. 

“I really need to go now. Knock yourself out,” Harry continued.

“Wasn’t planning on that, really. I tried that yesterday when I came here unfortunately, and it didn’t quite agree with me.” Draco’s voice was as indifferent as always and it took Potter just a slight bit of time to actually understand what he was saying.

Then he laughed, briefly but real, just before he hurried out of the room.

Leaving Draco to realize just how much he liked making him laugh.

***

Draco actually did go to the library and found some books on potions and curses (he figured it couldn’t hurt to read up on what else wizards and witches might be able to throw at him). 

But he quickly determined he wouldn’t be reading them in the library itself, though.

The library consisted of one large room, rather befitting a house of this stature, with books lining the walls, because, well, of course, it was a library. It only held one quite uncomfortably looking chair placed at a rickety table, however, so Draco decided that Harry wouldn’t mind if he took the books he’d collected back to the living room, where he picked himself a comfortable looking sofa and settled in to read. 

It really _was_ a comfortable sofa.

Draco started to read, but he didn’t really get very far, waking up to the flare of the Floo in the room coming to life. Honestly, he should stop doing that: falling asleep whenever Potter left him.

“Hey. You’re still here.” It was the first thing Potter said when he’d stumbled out of the green flames.

For a very brief moment Draco didn’t know what to make of that. Should he have left?

Then Potter smiled that nice smile of his again. “I wasn’t sure you actually would.” 

“Well, I found these books in your underused library and I’ve started reading them. It’s quite interesting. You should probably try it someday.”

“If you say so.” Harry said giving him a somewhat pointed look. “Otherwise I would have thought you’d been asleep on my sofa.” 

Draco must have looked slightly puzzled. How did Potter know? So Potter apparently decided to explain: “You know, since your hair is all -.” Here Potter just made a wild gesture with his hands. 

Okay, so Potter decided to _half-explain_ , but Draco got his drift alright. He probably looked mussed. 

Draco felt himself blush, but he couldn’t do anything about it, just hope it wasn’t too obvious. 

Potter watched for a moment, his gaze softer than Draco had expected. Then he turned to the books Draco had pulled out of his library. 

“So, curses and potions,” Potter stated, picking the books up from their pile and looking at their titles. “Makes sense.” He sounded a bit like he was talking to himself. “You always _were_ good at potions.”

“I was good at a lot of things.” Draco couldn’t resist a small smirk. He had always been a good student at Hogwarts, although, much to his father’s exasperation and his own at the time, Granger had been better. He decided not to go there, though: “But as I recall you did rather well in Potions too, at least in sixth year.” 

Now it was Potter’s turn to blush slightly whilst plonking down on the sofa next to Draco, as if that was what they normally did. “Let’s just say I had help that year,” he said. He didn’t elaborate and Draco certainly wasn’t going to push it, not now. He decided on still another route.

“I heard you’re training to be an Auror.” Draco’d actually read it in _The Prophet_ , sometime after the trials, but he surely wasn’t going to admit to Potter he’d read everything on him in both _The Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_ and even in _Witch Weekly_ if he was being honest with himself. 

“Yeah, I am,” Potter answered plainly. “We’re off for summer now, though.” 

“And? Is it what you expected?” Draco was curious, but he realized his voice sounded sort of quiet, tentative. Perhaps this wasn’t the sort of question Potter would appreciate.

Potter considered him briefly, almost like he wanted to see whether Draco was actually interested. Then he answered: “Mostly yes, but, well, sticking to the rules is not really -, you know, something I’m very good at. Sometimes it’s just rubbish, following procedure when you can just _do_ something.” 

Draco nodded. “So, you had problems with this in training sessions, I presume?” His voice could easily have been defiant and previously it probably would have been, but now it wasn’t. Draco _did_ actually understand.

“Yeah, sometimes. I’ve been trying to tell them that in reality it just doesn’t always work that way, that sometimes you have to make a different decision, but they just tell me that while practicing I need to follow the rules.” 

“Perhaps they mean you have to _know_ the rules before you can break them,” Draco mused. “But at least you can be trusted to make the right decisions, following the rules or not. That should probably count for something.” He knew he wasn’t just talking about Potter anymore and for a moment he felt more vulnerable than he’d let himself feel for a long time. 

Potter seemed to realise that too and the look he gave Draco was startlingly soft, but he didn’t say anything, just held his gaze.

“Some are not terribly good at making the right decisions, though.” Draco continued quietly. “ _I_ wasn’t good at making the right decisions.” 

That was when Potter decided to touch him, his hand squeezing Draco’s upper arm and then just staying there. Draco could feel the warmth travelling through his whole body. “But you _have_ changed. You’re -. Oh, you even visit Muggle clubs, for fuck’s sake.” Potter huffed a laugh and so did Draco, the tension broken. And Potter’s eyes were still so green and his hand so warm against his arm. And -.

That was when Potter decided _not_ to touch him anymore. He was still holding his gaze though, steadily and for a moment Draco thought Potter was merely moving his hand away from Draco’s arm to his face.

Well, he _hoped_ Potter was. 

Then Potter dropped his hand to his lap and looked down at it, breaking their gaze in the process. 

Of course, what had Draco been thinking? That Potter could actually _like_ him? In _that_ way?

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He fucking knew these things didn’t happen to him, not in reality anyway.

When he opened his eyes again he couldn’t even bring himself to look at Potter anymore, so he just averted his gaze and got up, ignoring the pain that was decidedly less than yesterday, but still there all the same.

He knew Potter was not together with the Weaselette anymore, that had made all the newspapers just after the trials, but well, they’d still been dancing together at the Muggle club, looking very much like a couple, so perhaps there was something there still. It wouldn’t be the first time the newspapers got it all wrong.

And even if they weren’t together Potter had never dated men, had he? And least of all Ex Death Eaters.

Really, how stupid could he be?

Draco made it to the door in a few long strides.

“Draco, what are you doing?” Potter’s voice sounded completely astonished. And he had called him Draco. He’d called him _Draco_.

It took all of Draco’s strength to head straight for the front door and not look back.


	4. The Third Time

The third time he saw him again Harry was prepared for it: he’d actually been _wanting_ to see him, had been looking for him.

Well, Harry had thought he should at least return Draco’s clothes. He could hardly keep them, now could he?

It had been difficult enough, though, but through some of Hermione’s (why she hadn’t been surprised when he’d asked for Malfoy’s address was a question for another time) contacts within the Ministry, Harry had got hold of his address the morning after Draco had left in such a hurry.

Before, it had felt rather important that Harry went there, to Draco’s flat, but when he’d actually had the address, he hadn’t been so sure anymore. Being a Gryffindor, Harry’d still gone eventually, though, and now he was here, having miraculously Apparated directly into Draco’s flat of which the Wards must obviously be malfunctioning, because they had let him in without a hitch.

At first Harry didn’t see Draco himself, though, until he walked into the living room and found the sofa.

There he was.

Draco was on his back, sprawled out over the sofa as if he’d collapsed there and hadn’t woken up since. He was still wearing the clothes Harry’d lent him yesterday and he was quite pale. 

His arm was on his belly. Red. There was blood on his shirt again.

Fuck.

“Draco?” Draco didn’t react and Harry made it to the sofa in a heartbeat. “Draco!” Harry heard the urgency to his own voice. He should have come straight away. He should have found the address yesterday evening somehow. “Draco.” His voice sounded almost pleading now, fear creeping in.

_Please, wake up. Please!_

Then he heard Draco inhale a shuddering breath and his eyes fluttered open. 

“Potter?” His voice was little more than a whisper and quite a confused whisper at that. “What-? How-?” 

Harry decided to address the most important matter first.

“You’ve been bleeding again,” the concern in his voice was definitely audible, but he really couldn’t be bothered.

Draco lifted his head just a little, enough to see the obvious stain that had settled on his shirt once again.

“Oh, that, I-.” He allowed his head to drop back to the sofa. “It’s nothing really. It’s not even bleeding anymore. It’s just-.” He paused, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. “You know, walking back here. I-, it’s fine.”

“You _walked_ back here?” Harry couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice, well, he wasn’t even trying to. 

Draco just gave him a slightly pained expression that Harry didn’t quite understand. “Yes.” 

“But that’s, that’s miles. And you’re hurt!” Of all the stupid things the stupid fucker could have done. Fuck. 

“Why didn’t you just use my Floo?” Harry felt extremely angry and judging by the way his voice sounded that was unquestionably clear. 

Draco just looked resigned, almost like he had stopped fighting something, his eyes tired. “Do you see a Floo here somewhere? Because I seem to have missed it.”

“You-, you don’t have a Floo? But you’re a -.” Harry had wanted to say something like _but you’re a pure-blood wizard. You’ve been brought up with magic._ , but he caught himself just in time. 

Draco took his hesitation to mean something else, though. 

“I’m a what? A Death Eater? I thought you didn’t-, I thought you-.” He closed his eyes again. “Could you just leave? You’ve let yourself in somehow, now let yourself out. And please don’t forget to take your Saviour Complex with you. I assure you I’m fine.”

Harry very much felt like he’d taken the wrong turn again, but this time at least he knew where he’d gone wrong.

“I don’t actually think I’ve got my Saviour Complex on me today, thank you very much.” Harry kept his tone light, smiling slightly, but completely genuinely. “And I wasn’t going to say that. I just-. I just have a hard time believing you don’t have a Floo, you know, with your wizarding background.” 

Harry had made his point talking rather fast, not wanting Draco to be able to get a word in edgeways. He wanted to make what he meant unmistakably clear before Draco could read something into his words that Harry hadn’t intended to be there.

Draco fell silent for a moment and Harry was afraid he had still found a way to get him all wrong.

And for some reason it was extremely important that he didn’t.

“I didn’t get one,” was all Draco said next, though, his voice sounding flat.

“You didn’t get a _Floo_?” Harry couldn’t quite believe that. “Did you put in a request?” 

Draco sighed. “Of course I did, Potter.” 

_Harry, please just call me Harry._

“And you were refused?” 

“Yes, they said I live in a Muggle area.”

“But that’s ridiculous. _I_ live in a Muggle area and I’m connected. And so are Ron and Hermione and they’ve just recently bought a house in my neighbourhood, too.” 

Draco just shrugged. There was a quiet resignation to him now that Harry disliked even more than his anger. He looked like he’d given up on something, something he shouldn’t have had to give up on. 

Just for something to do Harry fished his phial of Dittany out of his pocket. He had taken it when he’d left his house that morning, because-, well, because he’d suspected it might be needed. And it obviously _was_ needed. Draco’s wound should definitely be treated. 

“Is it okay if I-?” Harry asked, indicating the phial. He didn’t finish his sentence, but Draco nodded anyway, not even saying anything when Harry once more started unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. The wound had obviously been bleeding again, but Draco was right. It had dried and there was no fresh blood.

Harry was grateful that Draco didn’t say anything else, seemingly lost for words this once, because that way Harry didn’t have to look Draco in the eyes. 

Draco’s eyes were really quite distracting.

Harry just started to apply Dittany. “So, does that happen a lot? Curses and stuff?” Harry tried to make it sound casual, but he didn’t think he succeeded. 

Harry could feel Draco shrug. “It happens.” 

_I actually prefer to be around Muggles nowadays._

It was what Draco had said when they had been talking outside the club.

“How often?” Harry pressed. It all started to make sense - the curses, the no one apparently getting punished, the whole Floo thing - and Harry really didn’t like where it was going, not one bit.

“Not that often.” Now Harry couldn’t resist looking up at him. He didn’t quite believe what Draco had said and it must have shown. ”Not anymore.” Draco added quietly, averting his eyes.

Harry found he couldn’t look away now, though. He wanted to reassure Draco, wanted to touch him, like he had yesterday, but he wasn’t sure how that would be received now.

Yesterday’s ease seemed very far away all of a sudden.

So instead Harry just put the stopper back on the phial of Dittany and packed it in his pocket again.

“You really should leave now, though,” Draco said and when Harry looked up, Draco’s eyes met his, determined, but for a moment also holding an unexpected softness that Harry wasn’t quite ready for, but that he also seemed to want to hold on to. Draco’s eyes were so mesmerizing when they were soft, when he seemed vulnerable. Fuck.

“Why?” Harry’s own voice came out somewhere in between curious, defiant and actually caring.

Of course it did. 

“Because I’m fine and because I presume you in fact have a life to go back to, you know, instead of nursing me.” Draco sounded very much like himself now, but somehow the way he looked seemed to contradict that, his posture tired, impassive, as if he’d had just enough energy to sound as arrogant as ever, but couldn’t quite get himself to look it too. 

“Only if you give me one more chance at beating you in chess.” 

Draco just watched Harry for a short while, obviously not quite sure what to answer. Eventually he just said: “Okay,” his voice sounding slightly hesitant. He _had_ agreed, though. 

Good. 

***

For their game of chess they had moved to Draco’s dinner table. It had taken Draco a bit of effort to get up and walk there, he seemed somewhat dizzy and still in some pain, but Harry had pretended not to notice, knowing that Draco probably wouldn’t want him to.

Once he was sitting down Draco had Accio-ed his chess set. It was wizarding and beautiful, made out of ebony an alabaster, the pieces visibly happy to be let out of the box.

And then they’d started playing. It had been a long time since Harry had seen chess pieces move. And that in itself was quite enticing: seeing pieces bring the game to life, slaying each other, but always knowing that was all it was, a game. No harm done.

Besides Draco was really good at chess, probably not as good as Ron, but really good all the same. And Harry wasn’t, he’d gotten better, yes, but he wasn’t that good. 

He found he couldn’t care less, though. Playing chess with Draco was nice, easy fun, even if the twat won all the time. Well, _especially_ if the twat won all the time, actually. 

Because, now, at chess, Harry really liked to see Draco win.

Draco usually flushed a bit when he won, being pleased, but not rubbing it in, like he probably would have done years earlier. Instead he just flushed and smiled genuinely in a way that Harry could easily have watched for hours.

Draco had a nice smile.

And Harry was just so utterly fucked.

***

Eventually they ended up playing the whole morning, and then some: Draco not telling Harry to leave and Harry not wanting to let this go just yet. He didn’t want it to stop. 

So, it was only when his stomach started to make admittedly embarrassing noises of disapproval with being ignored, that he decided to ask Draco whether he could make them something to eat.

Draco gave him a slightly confused look and Harry was sure this was the moment he would be made to leave. 

Except it wasn’t. 

“Okay, if you like.” Draco just said, a bit reluctantly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe that Harry had asked him. “There’s food in the kitchen. But, I think _I_ should be -.”

Harry smiled. “No, you shouldn’t. You should just sit down and, you know, wait and fall asleep.” He felt his own broad grin.

For a moment Harry thought he overstepped their invisible line again, but Draco didn’t deny it, instead just mumbling: “Well, for some reason you seem to be the only thing keeping me awake since that bloody curse.”

Harry’s grin only got broader and he felt like they might have crossed another line altogether, like Draco felt as much at ease with Harry as Harry was feeling at ease with him.

It felt so much more encouraging than it probably should. 

***

When Harry emerged from the kitchen again, Draco wasn’t at the table anymore and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought he must have left. Until he realized this was actually _Draco’s_ flat.

Harry found Draco on the sofa again, but this time he wasn’t asleep. He was reading, leaning against the back of the sofa, one leg tucked under himself, his other foot still on the floor. 

He looked both elegant and quite relaxed.

Harry didn’t know exactly how long he’d been standing there before he noticed he’d apparently been staring. He pulled himself out of it.

“I’m not really much of a cook, so I just made us some toasties. Would you like some?”

Draco appeared slightly startled for a moment, probably only just aware of Harry’s presence, then looked up at him, his grey eyes slightly slow at getting to Harry’s face. He must still be tired. 

“Well, yes, I haven’t been waiting for you to finally make it out of my kitchen just so I could still not have anything to eat. I was actually starting to wonder whether my kitchen harboured a devious monster that had decided today was a really good day to manifest itself and eat Harry Potter.” 

Harry could have taken Draco’s words in many sorts of ways, but although his drawl was in place, his words didn’t seem have a real sting to them. 

And he was smiling.

“Well, in my defence: there’s so much stuff in your kitchen. Do you have any idea how much time it cost me to just find a loaf of bread?”

“I could make an educated guess.” Draco was still watching him, his eyes playfully lingering on Harry’s.

“Oh, just get up,” Harry huffed.

And that’s what Draco did, in one gracefully fluent motion, Harry’s shirt fitting him better than it would ever fit Harry.

*** 

It was just after they’d eaten that the owl appeared. Harry, closer to the window, let it in, expecting it to seek out Draco and let him take its delivery. It didn’t, however, instead just dropping a longish cylindrical package directly to the floor together with what must be the smallest piece of parchment Harry had ever seen delivered. Then the owl took straight off again.

Harry didn’t know owls could be rude, but this one had undeniably managed.

He must have shot Draco a questioning glance, but Draco didn’t really answer it. He just flushed a bit.

That’s when Harry saw what the package held. In hitting the floor it had apparently opened up slightly and a stick poked out. It was made of wood. 

A wand. It was a wand. Draco’s wand to be exact. The one that Harry had used for a while and had given to the Ministry to pass back to Draco, which they obviously hadn’t done yet.

Harry skimmed over the short note accompanying it. (He couldn’t help being at the right angle to do so, now could he?)

_your wand back_

That was all it said. It wasn’t even formal Ministry stationery, just a small piece of parchment, like someone hadn’t thought it was worth their time.

It wasn’t just the owl that had been rude.

“So, all this time you didn’t have your _wand_?” There were so many things that started to click into place now. How Draco wouldn’t have been able to Apparate for one. He couldn’t have gone to St Mungo’s even if he’d wanted to the day before yesterday, when he’d been cursed, when he’d ended up on Harry’s doorstep. He’d certainly been in no shape to walk all the way.

Draco didn’t really reply, avoiding Harry’s gaze, just shaking his head once, almost imperceptibly. 

“But how did you-? You said you were cursed before. And you couldn’t even _defend_ yourself?” Harry felt anger heating him up. “And nobody _did_ anything?”

Draco just shrugged, then wryly said: “They probably hoped the problem would take care of itself that way.” 

His voice was quiet and Harry watched him for a moment, not really knowing how to respond. 

“I-, I didn’t know,” he then said honestly. “They didn’t tell me. I just gave them your wand, you know, after-, and I supposed they’d give it back to you, at least straight after the trials.”

Harry’s gaze had shifted to the floor, his anger mixed with guilt now. He should have asked about what‘d happened to Draco, what the conditions of his not going to Azkaban would be. He should have known-.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Draco’s voice was soft, sincere. “You did what you were supposed to and I-, well, I _did_ make the wrong decisions. I deserved what was coming. I was really lucky not to have to go to Azkaban in the first place.”

Harry just scooted a bit closer to Draco on the sofa that they had somehow ended up on once more. “For what it’s worth: I don’t think you deserved it and you certainly didn’t deserve _this_ ,” he said indicating Draco’s abdomen, where the curse had hit. 

Harry found he meant it. That was what being an Auror was about, wasn’t it? It was why Harry wanted to become one, anyway: justice. Not just people taking the law into their own hands, dealing out curses to whoever didn’t please them. That was unfair. And leaving someone vulnerable without a wand, just having to take what any wizard or witch would cast at them without any sort of protection, well, that was well beyond unfair. 

Harry felt the urge to sit a bit closer to Draco still and, although Draco had obviously decided the window was infinitely more interesting to watch than Harry, Harry moved closer anyway.

That’s when Draco shot him a glance, short, fleeting, his grey eyes silvery bright. 

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was soft, a tenderness there that even surprised himself. He put a hand on Draco’s leg, wanting to comfort him, but not really knowing what would be allowed. That made Draco’s gaze shift back to Harry, it was still too bright, but also somewhat stunned.

It was the other thing that Harry saw, though, the softness, that made him reach up and touch Draco’s cheek, tentatively, still not sure whether Draco would let him. 

Draco didn’t bat him away, though.

“You _have_ changed,” Harry said. It held all the warmth he felt. And he meant it. The old Draco would never had thought he deserved anything bad, let alone punishment.

Harry was still watching Draco, being drawn in by his eyes, so close now that he could make out the specks of darker grey and blue hidden in the silver. Draco’s eyes were beautiful and for now Harry felt like they were all he needed, like he could drown in them and never have to come to the surface again.

Before he even realised he’d done it, Harry’s hand had cupped Draco’s jaw, 

And Draco didn’t pull back. Instead he put his hand in Harry’s neck, pulling him in, and it really just felt right, like they’d been heading for this for days. Harry gladly let him.

Draco’s lips were soft, and warm, and so, so tender. 

Harry felt his own hand slide to where Draco’s neck met his shoulder over soft, warm skin. His grip strong.

He hadn’t even noticed how much he’d wanted this before. 

Eventually it was Draco who pulled away again.

“This-. I-.” He watched the floor between them for a moment. Then he got up and turned.

Well, at least he tried to, before Harry caught his arm. There was no fucking way Draco was running out on him now. “Don’t.” His voice held an urgency that made Draco look at him again. 

Just a flicker of uncertainty, until Draco’s face evened out in cool indifference. “I don’t think we should ever mention that again.” 

But he didn’t back away from Harry, who was still holding his arm.

“Why not?” Harry countered, Gryffindor courage in place, emboldened by the hint of hesitancy he just saw. 

“Because-. Well, it obviously was a mistake.” Draco’s voice sounded cold again, but there was a whisper of a question to his tone that Harry held on to.

“No, it wasn’t.” Harry decided he was in for a Knut in for a Galleon. He trained his eyes on Draco’s, who, annoyingly, wouldn’t quite meet his gaze, though. “It was-. I-.” Harry’s inability to just say what he wanted to say was rather frustrating so instead he just fisted Draco’s shirt, pulling him in close.

There was nothing tender to the kiss that followed. It was hard and urgent and needy, all pent-up wanting apparently finding its way out.

It was the most exhilarating kiss Harry had ever had. 

***

Harry had no idea what time it was when he woke up next to Draco, but he didn’t even bother to cast a _Tempus_. He was lying on his side, his chest against Draco’s back and one arm and leg wrapped around him - carefully avoiding his healing wound - in a gesture of possessiveness that he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

“Hey, you’re awake.” It wasn’t a question, although Draco hadn’t actually turned around to look at Harry. 

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, fondly kissing Draco’s hair, “but I’m not going anywhere. So don’t you dare ask.” His tone was playful, but he meant it. He wasn’t going to leave, not anytime soon, anyway.

Draco turned slightly, slanting Harry a look. “I won’t then.” There was a tender smile in his voice and instead of saying anything else he just took Harry’s hand in his and squeezed it, warm and reassuring, then slowly turned completely, starting a lazy kiss the moment he was able to.

Nope, whatever time it was, there was nowhere else Harry would rather be right now. Nowhere at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Beta.
> 
> And thank you for reading!


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